


End of the Line. 2

by wirtleberg



Series: End of the Line [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Sam Winchester, Angst, Dominant/Top Dean, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Time, Hurt Dean Winchester, Impala Fic, Impala Sex, Longing, Loss, M/M, Masturbation, Pain, Pining, Rating: NC17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:44:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wirtleberg/pseuds/wirtleberg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benny's gone and Dean is finding that much, much harder than he expected.  And Sam knows ... Angsty auto-erotica ensues!</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of the Line. 2

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexa_dean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexa_dean/gifts).



  
He’s running. Running, running through ripping branches, half sliding, half stumbling over bone scraps and rotting leaf mould, churning up the filth of Purgatory’s floor. Noise close behind him now, curdled squeals that could come from any of the vile motherfuckers he shares this place with. Something, a claw maybe, catches him from behind and he lunges forward, trying to yank free, air clogging in his lungs. If I die here will I come back like all the other monsters? Will I come back? Or … He doesn't want the answer to that, but whatever is behind him has its claws sunk in his jacket now and it feels like he's running on the spot, legs spinning like the friggin' Roadrunner right before the stupid bird goes down, down, down.  
And then, there it is, the sound he's been waiting for, the hiss of a blade cutting through air followed by the wet thunk that says for now, for this moment at least, he’s safe. He turns and there’s the vampire, gore-spattered and grinning, its secondary teeth shark-like in the wide-open mouth. "Benny, man", he says and smiles. "Benny".

"Benny … Benny!" He jerks upright in the bed, heart beating at the inside of his rib cage like a claw hammer. The dream sense is still as fresh as the sweat soaking the sheets. Shit, oh shit! He glances quickly toward the motionless figure lying in the other bed and holding his breath listens for the sound of Sam's breathing. Silence. And it occurs to him that his brother is holding his breath too. He lies down throwing back the damp sheet and looks across the gulf between the two beds. In the scant light filtering through from the street beyond the window he thinks he sees the shine of an open eye.

"What's the plan?" Sam's voice is uninflected. "Do we have a plan here?"  
These are the first words outta Sam’s tight-lipped pie-hole today and Dean chokes on the sweet sticky stuff filling his own mouth. Across the diner table his brother's face is stiff. Christ on a friggin’ hog! he looks just like Dad, like Dad in one of his more unforgiving and judgmental moments. Dean chews and swallows, slurps at the thin watery stuff that passes as coffee and says, "We start with Kevin, gonna get him back, have to. Something big is going down with Crowley and we need to know what. Was thinking about Cas, maybe asking him to help, but after that shit with Samandriel …". He shakes his head and pushes more pancake into his mouth and mumbles, “He seems real fucked up y’know.”  
Sam says nothing.  
“Well? Are you thinking ‘bout a plan too or is my brain the only one in use here this morning?"  
"I heard you."  
"What?” Bemused, Dean says “Course you heard me, you’re not deaf, not senile an’ I’m only three feet away."  
"Last night. I heard you last night."  
He continues chewing resolutely, using the movement of muscles to disguise whatever might otherwise be passing across his face. "And just what did you hear Sammy?" He looks up in time to see the tiny ripple of rage move across his brother's face.  
"Was it a dream Dean? Or a nightmare? Seemed a bit of both to me, right up 'til the end when it got real uh … interesting.” Sam’s expression is as close to a sneer as Dean can recall, well, since he got his soul back anyway, and for a moment he feels only astonishment, until Sam continues, “Depending of course on your definition of interesting."  
He takes a final swig at the coffee, sets down the cup without letting his hand shake and hopes his game face is firmly on. "You dream about being in the cage, I dream about being in Purgatory … mostly Purgatory, but sometimes Hell too. Remember Hell Sammy? I was down there a good long while if I recall. Hell, Purgatory, enough there to feed a few nightmares, dontcha think?"  
"Just how stupid do you think I am?”  
What the fuck, there’s that sneer again!  
“I stopped hunting, Dean, I didn't stop being able to think. In fact, I'm pretty sure there’s an inverse correlation between hunting and thinking … more of one and less of the other. Know what I mean?"  
Beneath the table, Dean's hands clench into fists, nails cutting sharp into his palms. "Am I supposed to give a flying fuck about what you mean?" Anger wells in him, bright and vivid. The bastard, the arrogant, self righteous asshole.  
"Did you fuck?" Sam’s eyes are direct now, the sneer gone, replaced by something much worse.  
"Whaaat! What is this? Are you friggin' interrogating me here? Because if you are, this ain't the time, or the place and more important, you got no right. Any right you ever had to question me you gave up when you made your personal", he can hear the word coming out of his own mouth on a hiss, "choices this last year. Am I making myself clear? SAM-my."  
"Did you and the vampire fuck?" Sam's face is closed, bland and relentless as his tone. "I'm asking you see because I'm pretty damn sure that you did, and now, now I'm left wondering why you're acting all uppity and denying about it."  
Uppity? What the ... ! Dean feels the blood course through his veins like acid, flaring under his skin and telling its own story across neck and face. He stands abruptly and palming a $20 bill on the tabletop, starts pushing his way out of the booth.  
"Wouldn't be guilt, would it ... about giving it up to a vampire? Or maybe shame ... 'cos that vamp just happens to be a friggin' guy? Or both." Sam's voice cuts through the air behind him and even as near blind with rage as he is, Dean can hear the pain in it. "I’d put my money on both. What about you Dean? Where'd you put your money … brother?"  
The urge to turn and punch Sam hard in the mouth is almost overwhelming. But right now he's the best he's ever been and Sam’s so far out of practice it isn't even funny. If he starts in on him here he might not be able to stop and somewhere, afterwards, there would be regret, real gut twisting regret. So he walks away, hitting the door on his way out so that it swings wildly to and fro behind him.

He drives until the rage clears and he reckons he's about 10 miles from town. He cuts the Impala's engine feeling it continue to throb and grumble under him (timing’s off, need to fix that) as he leans his head back and stares at the roof of the car. He misses Purgatory. Never, not in a million years, thought he'd say that. And he misses Benny. He's scrubs at his face with both hands. Jesus, he misses Benny. He feels for the phone in his pocket, maybe Benny still has his? But he'd told the vampire, "end of the line" and meant it. He'd said it for Benny, so as he could be honest with him, not keep promising what he couldn't deliver, not letting him down like so many others before him. Benny deserved better than that, much better than anything Dean could offer him now. And he'd said it for Sam too, because Sam wanted it, needed it if they were to go on working together, being brothers together. Letting go of Benny had hurt, really hurt, Christ! more even than he’d realised at the time. And now, there's this something keeps pulling him back to the vampire, to their time together, to the things they did with and for each other to keep alive.  
His dreams of Benny, Sam had the right of that at least, don't give him any peace of heart or mind, they're more like sandpaper rubbing away at those raw and tender places where the vampire lives in him … used to, used to live.  
"Benny, man. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry." He holds the wheel with both hands and lays his forehead on them, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the prickling there. Christ! He almost laughs out loud. For a guy who spent more than half his life a ruthless pussy-hound how come he finds himself so fucking cock-whipped these days? Huh? There's not a man in his life, dead or alive, that doesn't breed some guilt, some regret some crushing sense of obligation in him. Castiel … don't even go there Winchester, there's way too much water, blood and other shit passed under that particular bridge. Castiel's fucked up right now, worse than he was in Purgatory by a long shot. He knows he should think about that, try and work out what's wrong, help the angel anyway he can. But he doesn't have the energy or, if he’s honest, the will any more. And Sam, Sam … his blood, his brother, kinda like his child, though he doesn't let himself go down that route too often. He can't believe how much Sam reminds him of John right now in his single-mindfuckedness. Only difference is, Dad’s dead and any regret about him, and there's no shortage, can be held out of sight out of mind somewhere in the back of his head where all his dead are buried. Sam, on the other hand is very much alive and pushing, pushing, pushing at him. What does he want? What the fuck does he want?  
He presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets hard. Maybe he should tell it true, get it all out, "Yeah Sammy, the vampire and I fucked. We loved it. I, Dean Winchester, your brother, loved it. Tell you the truth I couldn't get enough Sammy. Every single fucking thing about him made me hot; even the whole vampire thing, or maybe, if I'm honest, and I am being completely honest here Sammy, the vampire thing made it even hotter, because it should have been wrong, shouldn't it Sam. It should have been wrong, but wrong sure ain't how it felt. Every day down there was like a meat grinder man, turning out filth that died and just came back again to have another go at me, and then another and I was alone in that, completely and totally alone. Castiel fucked off the minute we arrived, did I tell you that? Oh yeah, my so-called angel, my friend who I trusted even more than you Sammy, vanished without a trace. And you know who came, finally, who helped me find Cas, who saved Cas’ life and mine over and over and over? Benny. It was Benny, Sam. It was Benny.  
What he would never say, couldn't say, to Sam, even at his most transparently honest, was how having Benny in him, on him, under him had made him feel more alive, more content than he could ever remember being, topside. Back then he’d thought it was all part of the whole ‘Purgatory is pure’ thing; the simplicity of an existence which included fucking with his friend, Benny Lafitte, vampire.  
He closes his eyes. Jesus! Was that true? Had he really felt those things, ‘alive’, ‘content’? Eyes shut even tighter he lets himself sink.

They’re facing each other across a small fire. Fires are rare, too dangerous really, but Benny lit this one because Dean’d been cold and shocky, shoulder dislocated putting down a pack of three vamps. Benny had yanked the shoulder back in then cooked some dead thing over the fire and fed him, laughing when Dean’d said "Don't need feeding you undead prick, still got two hands".  
"S‘okay brother, no trouble to me, I like putting things in that sweet mouth o’yours." And he’d smiled and drawn a thumb over Dean's lower lip, tugged gently down, exposing. "You know it, don't you," eyes flicking up to meet his own. "Uh huh, yeah, I see you know it …" Then he’d leaned in and licked all along the soft red membrane, from one side of his mouth to the other.

Dean's hands move involuntarily to his groin where his junk is on fire, cock steel-stiff and paining. He grabs down for the seat lever and pushes back making space between himself and the wheel. He'd known, always known that it wasn't just his flesh tempted Benny, but what lay beneath, what Benny could hear every minute of every day and night spent around Dean, the movement of his blood, his human heart, alive and pumping. Food, Dean was food wrapped up as a friend. And that was all part of the hotness too, knowing something as up close n’ personal as Benny might see him as prey, as something less than himself, less than a person. Fuuuck, that was seriously messed up, even by his low standards. He squeezes his balls, gasping at the pain/pleasure that ricochets round his insides, head thrown back against the seat. Was that it then, was he drawn to Benny because he was a being, a thing, that desired him, Dean Winchester, so entirely… would consume him, body and soul if he let it? And there were times when he’d wanted that, would have said "Take it all, take the whole fucking lot, every red drop and every twisted thought and friggin’ hag-ridden feeling along with it. And he could have said it, knowing that whatever he said, whatever he offered, Benny would take nothing, ever, that would diminish Dean, or himself.

"Aah, shit! Benny! Jesus Benny …". His right hand presses along the seam of his fly, crushing down on his cock, denying it release. The pain feels good, kinda balances the pain in his chest, the one behind his eyes, and the empty, hollow feeling that starts at his asshole and winds up through him, ending behind his teeth.

He'd been warm beside the fire, almost relaxed, not speaking, when Benny'd said, "Fuck me".  
He'd been startled, tried hard not to let it show. Took a breath and said, much smoother than he felt, "Sure, man. Let's give it a go." And Benny had crossed the fire, stepping over it like it wasn't there and sat in front of him eyes smiling into his.  
"Anything," he’d said "I don't break easy cher, so you do what you need to with me, anything you want." He’d grinned then, teeth white and shapely, the blue of his eyes shadowed in the firelight. "Seems only fair after all."  
That 'all', Dean knew, being the uncounted, epic poundings Benny had given him any time the monsters stayed away long enough for Dean to spread himself wide open and brace. Time and again Benny had turned him and churned him 'til he was soft as butter inside, until closing his legs took real effort and he began to fear that nothing of him would or could return to its proper shape and size, and - scariest of all - that something in him liked himself this way just fine. But in Purgatory nothing stays the same and so next time and the next time Benny’d had to break him all over again and he’d stopped fearing.

Everything in Dean is clenched now, rigid, the sensation of Benny's cock-head against his hole amazingly vivid. Pressure is building so that he scrabbles at his jeans pushing them down past his knees, spreading wide and wider the leather of the seat warm and smooth against his flesh. He can almost feel Benny's breath on him, causing his balls to draw up tight to his body. Those sounds must be himself tho’, ‘cos there's no one else here. His cock is so hard it barely seems part of him, only the radiating heat reminds him it's not carved from stone. And it's not enough, not nearly fucking enough. Moaning, he slow-drags his fingernails up from balls to slit leaving soft red lines in his skin, one fingertip gathering the wetness he finds there. Shifting sideways he twists back and shoves the finger hard up inside him. He gasps as the sharp intrusion jolts him so he thinks he might come right then and there. He slows, let's go his cock and breathes.

"Anything?" he’d said and Benny had smiled wider and nodded once. He’d reached out a hand then and touched the vampires face, feeling the cool skin above the short beard, eyelashes brushing his fingers. He’d closed his eyes and continued to feel, the hand moving like a blind man’s, learning, memorising.

He takes a deep breath, draws his finger out, letting the pressure ease a fraction. His insides are still yearning, his cock still trying to reach its way to Mars, but he let’s a little of it go because he wants to and because he can.

He’d taken Benny at his word then and done what he wanted, what he needed, just that one time. When it came to it he hadn't hesitated, hadn't thought what it might do to them, what difference it might make between them. When he needed it Benny’d seen him right, delivered that sense of being overwhelmed, of his body being not quite his own while everything they did toed that line of brutal, unspoken agreement. So, as he’d felt the vampire's face he'd known, not sure how, but certain, that what Benny needed and what he needed with Benny, just this once, was something entirely other.

He sits quietly now, eyes open, one hand motionless on his cock, the other feeling the wetness on his face. He hears his own mantra echo in his head, 'No body fluids in the car' and he chokes, half laughing, half sobbing. Christ! Why the fuck is he whining? He's made love to hundreds of women and even a few men - though with the men, if he's being totally honest, which he is, it was them making love to him. So why's he all riled up about a fucking deader? But even as he thinks this fresh tears run down his face, along his jaw and pool in the hollow at the base of his throat.

He hadn't expected it, that much was pretty clear. Surprise, concern, even awkwardness were written all over the vampire’s face.  
"You promised," he'd soothed. “ ‘Anything’ Benny, you said ‘anything you want’. So let me, this is what I want, this is what I want man.”  
And Benny had let him, laid still and passive when Dean ran his hands, his tongue, his lips over everything he could reach. They never got naked, nothing with more than a single brain cell would get naked here and Dean’d caught himself wondering what it might be like, them, in a great big bed with sheets and pillows.  
He'd never tasted anything like Benny. Dust and dead things, the cool of the cemetery, these his tongue takes in right away. Under that is the smell of blood. Not the fresh blood of the monsters they slay together, but something older - maybe the blood that makes him what he is? And under all that is something he's truly never tasted or smelled before. He runs his tongue over nipples big as some on chicks he's had. This thought hardens his cock almost past bearing, as if it needed to get any harder. He noses through the hair around Benny's cock, lapping at his balls before mouthing the shaft, circling the head with his tongue soft and softer, then hard and sharp, before latching on and suckling like a starved infant. Benny moans, starts to move, but keeps his hands flat on the ground because he knows this is Dean's show, this is what Dean wants. And it strikes Dean like a kick to the ribs that what he tastes and smells on Benny, under the filth and stink of Purgatory, even under the scent of his vampire nature, is loyalty.  
Lying between Benny’s thighs he raises his ass like a chalice and parting the flesh brings the hidden place to his own mouth. With my body he thinks, outta nowhere, with my body, and pushes his tongue inside to where it's tight and cool, so cool on his burning tongue. He's trying hard not to rut the ground but it's not easy. His grip on Benny's hips, the feel of his own face buried so deep, so thoroughly, has him spasming in near mindless lust. He stops, rests his face on the inside of Benny's stretched thighs. "I'm going to fuck you now" he says, and oh so gently, works a grimy finger with his own spit and slowly, slowly pushes it against the ring of flesh quivering inches from his eyes.  
“Aah, ah, what the fuck Dean …!"  
Looking up he sees Benny smacking the back of his head into the ground over and over and wants to giggle. "Wow, that's a good look on you man! How about this …?" He lets spit down from his lips in a string and pushing the finger carefully in and out feels Benny open to him, just a little, before he adds a second. Benny’s panting now, controlling his breath, trying to relax. Dean can feel it in the muscles of his legs, in the flesh vibrating under his hands.  
"Try and push me out." and as Benny obliges Dean presses in ‘til his fingers meet his palm. "You okay?" he says and Benny breathes out hard, once, twice, which is weird, Dean didn't think vampires needed air.  
Benny says, "Well, I ain't never done this before brother but they say more is better ... aaah, man!' He half-chokes as Dean's fingers spread inside of him, then smiles a little unsteadily. 'Don't you go worryin' about me Dean. Like I said, I don't break that easy."  
Dean had smiled back and spitting again added another two to the pair already wrapped in Benny, which had thrown the vampire's hips up, back arching as Dean took him as far down his throat as he could without heaving. What came out of Benny then included French nothings and a whole dictionary of cussin’ that must have gone out of print sometime before 1950. Dean starts to smile and feels the other jump and gasp as his teeth catch briefly on overstretched skin. "Sorry, sorry," he says, freeing his mouth, "know what that feels like man." And he laughs and Benny laughs and then he’s laying on top of Benny, stretched out on him, tongue in his mouth, lips scraping against beard - which should be the weirdest thing,'cept this is so far past weird 'beard' barely registers. He drops his elbows on the ground beside Benny's head and rests his hands on his hair, the soft, stubbled feel of it astonishing. "I could get lost in you," he says before realising he’s spoken aloud and wants to bite his tongue as Benny shivers and goes very still under him.  
“You ain't never done this before neither." It's not a question but there's a smile in Benny's voice, letting Dean know it's okay, he hasn't fucked up, hasn't ruined the moment.  
"Not like this. I've never actually, you know, done a guy.”  
"Nor a vampire neither I ‘spect.’ And Benny presses against him, politely letting him feel the hardness of his cock, his need. "Thought you said somethin’ ‘bout fucking me sugar. Or did I mis-hear?"

The forest might have been full of watching eyes, but it was silent under the trees as he teased Benny open all over again. Fingers and tongue in tandem this time, stretching gently, little by little, any hurt the fingers made, quickly soothed away with the flat of his tongue. He probed, feeling for that secret spot, the thing that could spark white lightning in his own body. Truth be told he was just guessing and hoping right up ‘til Benny hissed and writhed, low guttural growls pushed, almost unwillingly it seemed, from out between his lips. He pressed up, tips of his fingers curled in on that spot, "C’mon Benny, c’mon man, show me, give it up," and even as he speaks Benny starts to ride his fingers, grunting, hands clenched tight in the dirt. Dean pauses fleetingly, unsure for a brief moment of whether he is doing this to Benny, or Benny to him, so strong is his body’s memory of this particular pleasure. Then he's on his knees, guiding Benny's legs around him and he's pushing, pushing gently, slowly, holding back with everything he has, holding back from diving straight home into that cool depth.  
"Mère de Dieu," Benny’s saying, over and over. "Mère de Dieu.” Then he goes rigid as Dean pushes all the way in and starts gasping, (there's that vampire breathing thing again ... ). Dean pauses, concern and desperation warring in him. "You okay Benny? Tell me if it's not okay …"  
"Just fuck me!" Benny near crushing him between his thighs, voice half choking. "For fuck’s sake! Anyway you want cher, but just do it ...!"  
And Dean had laughed again, a weirdly joyful sound there in the armpit of the universe, and let himself go. In, and in and in until he wondered how it would feel with his balls inside of Benny too and what else might fit without breaking. Benny's keening and beating the ground with his fists and they're sweating so their thighs slide together on wetness. Dean never knew vampires could sweat.

Just before he came he'd felt Benny go very still again. Can't stop! Can't stop, not now; but for a split second he’d looked down, right down into Benny's face and seen the expression in his eyes. Fuck! Then, with no thought of why, he was pulling out and coming in long white-hot jets that fell on Benny from groin to mouth, fell like a blessing, a baptism and Dean was on him, rubbing and licking, pushing his seed into Benny’s skin, under his rucked up shirt, over his face, carrying it on his tongue to his mouth. ‘Mine, mine …’ he'd thought, but surely not said, and felt Benny follow him then, cock jerking and twitching without benefit of hand or mouth, neck arching backwards, eyes wide open.  
“Leviathan!” Benny’d yelled loud enough to wake the dead, "At your three o'clock … ". And just like that, it was over.

Dean grabs some tissues from the pack in the armrest wipes his face and cleans himself up. No body fluids in the car. Feeling tired to death, he fixes his shirt, buttons his jeans. He thinks of Benny, that look in his eye as he'd hung over him just before they both shattered, then the lostness in his voice at the end of the line when he’d said, "You mean now, or …? He pushes the thought away ‘cos if he doesn't he'll start to cry again and that would be just too friggin' much. He reaches down and grabs the lever, pulling the seat closer to the wheel. Before he turns the key he thinks of Sam and all that painful outrage waiting for him back in the motel. He knows Sam will be there, ‘cos despite the pain, the real-to-goodness, god-damn fucking pain, Sam wouldn’t miss out on this chance to bitch at him for the world.  
"Benny’s gone." He says it out loud, wanting to hear the words. Then he breathes out through his lips, long and slow. Benny's gone, but he still has to deal with his brother.

**Author's Note:**

> For Alexa, for the reading pleasure you've given ... :)
> 
> End of the Line 1 and 2 are my first ever fanfiction. Feedback is always more than welcome ...


End file.
